


Ironing out the Kinks

by nameloc_ar_115



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Plug, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Clubbing, Come as Lube, Daddy Kink, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Derek Has a Big Dick, Dirty Talk, Dom Stiles, Established Relationship, Humiliation kink, Insecure Derek, Light D/s, M/M, Off-Screen Kink Negotations, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Role Playing, Slight Feminization Kink, Spanking, Sub Derek, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameloc_ar_115/pseuds/nameloc_ar_115
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy’s leaning against the side wall of the club, neither flaunting himself nor trying to blend into the background. He's fiercely beautiful and unforgiving as he turns down the dozenth man and woman to proposition him for a dance or a drink. Stiles must have him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ironing out the Kinks

                Stiles has been dancing for nearly an hour. He’s sweaty, his arms and legs loose and fluid as they move with the music. He scarcely notices who’s around him because the crowd is constantly changing, a writhing and restless mass, exuding heat and vibration and chemicals.

                He never lets anyone put their hands on him for more than a few seconds before he spins away or slithers out of their hold. He isn’t dancing for anyone else tonight, and his outfit alone should be evidence of that. He’s wearing the clothes he put on this morning. A t-shirt and jeans, both too baggy to really show anything off, and his most trusty pair of tennis shoes. Not exactly come-get-me sexy.

                When the song ends, he saunters over to the bar and asks for another bottle of water. He plops onto one of the stools and surveys the crowd with a mostly absentminded curiosity. Only one person piques Stiles’ interest. The same person he ogles every time he steps off the dance floor.

                The guy’s leaning against the side wall of the club, neither flaunting himself nor trying to blend into the background. He's fiercely beautiful and unforgiving as he turns down the dozenth man and woman to proposition him for a dance or a drink.

                Stiles must have him.

                He drains the rest of his water and approaches the man, pleased to note that he’s not the only one underdressed. Still, the broody loner looks _amazing_ in nothing more than his worn, white tee and dark jeans.

                The loud music gives Stiles an excuse to press the boundary of personal space, and he’s grateful for it. The guy is lightly cologned and smells crisp and clean. White Tee executes a spectacularly thorough eye roll when Stiles stops in front of him.

                “I don’t want to dance. I don’t want a drink. No, thank you,” the guy says curtly.

                Stiles grins, and the loner seems somewhat disarmed by that, blinking in rapid succession. “That’s good. Because I was going to ask you to come home with me.”

                The glowering man’s thick, black brows climb his forehead. “Pretty sure of yourself.”

                “Why else would you be here if you didn’t want to drink or dance?” Stiles shrugs, an easy smile playing across his lips.

                The guy sighs and crosses a pair of muscled arms over a broad chest. “Okay.”

                “Awesome.” Stiles beams and offers his hand, completely undeterred by the current imbalance of excitement. White Tee stares at his palm for a few seconds, as if dumbfounded by the tenderness of the gesture, before he places his hand gently into Stiles’.

                Stiles waits until they get outside, breaking through the cool, night air, to crowd the man against the brick wall of the club. The change in temperature makes his sweat chill deliciously, and even the hair along the guy’s temples is slicked. The club is _hot._

                So are White Tee’s hands when they rest on his back. Stiles groans as he beholds the guy’s peachy lips, the formidable stubble covering his jaw and cheeks. Somehow, he restrains himself from devouring the man’s mouth and instead trades a slow, deep kiss.

                Stiles licks his lips to chase the taste. He already feels his cock stirring, his blood going rich and hot while the lust rolls through him. His hands bunch in the front of White Tee’s shirt.

                “Have you had anything to drink?” he asks.

                “I’m not drunk,” the guy breathes, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Stiles’ eyes track his throat and his eyelashes, and he _burns_ inside.

                “That’s not what I asked you,” Stiles murmurs lowly against the man’s neck. He feels the shiver under his lips, under his hands.

                “Not even one drink. I promise, Da—” The word drops abruptly, like all of the air has been punched out of White Tee’s lungs. But Stiles knows. It’s in the bow of the guy’s body, his tentative touches, the welcoming spread of his lips and his thighs.

                He backs away, and he thinks he hears a disgruntled grumble from the man. It makes him smile, his toes curling in his shoes, belly tightening.

                “My Jeep’s close.” Stiles doesn’t need to lead him by the hand anymore; the guy follows him.

                Stiles slides into the driver’s side and plugs the key into the ignition. White Tee settles in the passenger’s side, his legs opening to form a “V.” The position stretches the denim tight over his thighs and crotch, his sizable bulge unencumbered by any semblance of underwear.  

                The guy’s posture is relaxed, but he’s silent. He keeps his head turned towards the window, watching the empty parking lot. It highlights the taut muscle in his neck and the sharp cut of his jaw and cheekbone.

                Stiles tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Say it,” he demands, in a voice that’s not ungentle. The man’s spine goes rigid then, and he flicks a testing glance at Stiles before looking down at his clasped hands.

                White Tee stops and starts, his jaw ticking, his face growing ruddy.

                “Do I have to repeat myself?” Stiles asks, his voice deadly soft and even.

                The guy exhales shakily and wipes his palms on his jeans. Which only calls attention to the solid line of dick straining against the fabric of his right thigh.

                The man stares directly into his eyes, much to Stiles’ approval, and utters the words with only a faint tremble in his voice. “No, Daddy.”

                Stiles beams at him, and the man simpers in return. “How does that feel?”

                “Good,” the guy whispers. “No one ever wanted to be my Daddy before.”

                “Well, I do, baby.” He sees White Tee jolt at the name and soothes him by combing through the hair behind his ear. “And I want you to be my big, beautiful boy. Is that okay with you?”

                The man closes his eyes and swallows. “Please. Yes.”

* * *

                Stiles drives back to the apartment with one hand on his baby’s upper thigh. Not fondling or groping, just resting there. The heat and the pressure calms his boy’s fidgeting.

                He tosses his keys into the dish on the small stand in the front hallway and slides the deadbolt. A split-second later, his baby is flattened against the front door while Stiles takes filthy kisses from his mouth. Reluctantly, they disentangle, and Stiles ushers his boy towards the bedroom.

                “Undress.” Stiles doesn’t bark commands, but he keeps his voice firm. He watches with shameless absorption.

                His baby is _stunning_. He’s faintly tanned, with flawless skin and elegant muscle definition. His tight, perky nipples are dusky-rose and match the color of the hardening, uncut cock that hangs heavily, thickly between his legs. His meaty thighs are overgrown with dark hair, the bush around his dick and balls wild. A sparser smattering covers the plane of his pectorals and his forearms.

                Stiles is still fully clothed, his cock throbbing beneath the zipper of his jeans.

                “Sit down, baby. On the edge.” Stiles tosses his clothes to each side as he wriggles out of them. Naked, he crawls into his sweet boy’s lap, sliding their bare skin together, hair bristling and tickling.

                He loves that his baby is so much bigger than him—heavier and thicker and stronger—but remains docile and careful. His boy’s arms band around his back and hold him securely. He’s waiting with such grace and patience that Stiles is tempted to give him everything and anything he wants all at once.  

                “I have such a beautiful boy,” Stiles murmurs and smiles, dragging his hands down his baby’s chest. He tips his boy’s head upwards when it dips and hides his pretty face. “Uh, uh,” he chides, “I gave you a compliment.”

                “Thank you, Daddy.” His baby’s face is warm to the touch, his eyes wide and attentive. Dark and dilated in the low light of the bedroom.

                Stiles continues, his voice honeyed. “A beautiful boy with a massive cock that could keep me bowlegged for a week. Maybe you’re the one who should do the fucking tonight, baby boy.”

                His baby makes a noise that can only be described as a _whine_. “Daddy, please, no.”

                Stiles pets over his boy’s abdomen, feeling the muscles quiver and the body below him shift. “What is it? What do you want?”

                “I—” His baby’s breath catches as Stiles curls loose fingers around his fat cock, using the weeping trail of precome sliding down his shaft to jack him. For good measure, Stiles sucks two fingers deep into his mouth and circles and pulls his boy’s stiff nipples.

                “F-fill me up, Daddy.”

                Stiles kisses his sweet boy, rubbing their tongues together and nibbling on his lips. He hums against his baby’s soft mouth. “That’s not good enough, baby. Should I fuck you open with a toy? Stuff a few fingers inside your tight asshole?”            

                His baby whimpers and then blushes deeply. In a small voice, he confesses, “I want you inside me. _You._ Your cock.”

                Stiles smirks. “That’s good, baby. But how am I going to fuck you?” His hands stop teasing. He releases his boy’s reddened nipples and glistening dick, which sways under its own weight and topples against his baby’s firm stomach.

                He smooths his hands up his boy’s arms, the goosebumps springing afterwards. Stiles knows this is the most difficult part.  

                “I want to ache from you, Daddy. I want to throb from how hard you pound my ass. I want your hot, Daddy cream clogging my hole.” When his baby finishes, his chest is heaving, his eyes darting uncertainly.

                Stiles lets a dark, low chuckle escape his mouth. “You’re a greedy boy, aren’t you? I bet you always need something prodding deep into your little boy-sex, feeding that hungry hole.”

                “Daddy, _please_. I just. I hate feeling empty.” His baby tosses his head and plants his face in the warmth of Stiles’ chest. He grinds restlessly against Stiles, rubbing their engorged cocks together.

                Stiles pushes his boy down into the mattress and keeps him there with a hand to his sternum. His baby has no leverage anymore to frot his needy cock. It flops between his carved hips, smearing translucent fluid through his treasure trail.

                “What bad manners, baby. Taking without asking.” Stiles _tsk_ s and raises himself onto his knees, creating a gap of swampy air between their groins. The apartment isn’t overly warm, but the intimate contact and body heat make the back of Stiles’ thighs and his ass dewy with perspiration.

                “Look at you, my horny baby. Frothing at the cock for a good dicking. Have you ever even wet your cock, sweet boy? Sunk inside a snug asshole or a moist pussy?” Stiles grips the monster between his baby’s thighs and thumbs over the sticky head, plucking the tacky foreskin. His boy thrusts his hips, whining under his breath. “Or were you too busy cramming your hole since the moment it first made your boy-cock dribble?”

                His baby paws at the hand holding him down, rubbing and squeezing the length of Stiles’ arm but never exerting any strength or resistance. His face is scarlet, full teardrops budding and spilling from the corners of his eyes.

                “I love it, Daddy. I do,” he sobs.

                Stiles cups one fevered cheek and leans close to his baby’s face. “Color?” he enunciates.

                “Green, Daddy,” his boy replies, sniffling.   

                “Okay, baby. It’s okay to cry. I’m going to give you everything you need.” He tongue-fucks his baby’s mouth and rolls his weighty balls in his palm. Each one is a solid, meaty handful, and Stiles squeezes and kneads them, thinking about the rich, viscous load his baby must make. His boy’s surprised huff vibrates against his lips.                

                “Turn over, baby. I want that face down and that ass up.”

                “Yes, Daddy,” he breathes. Stiles crawls off of him, and his perfect boy rolls onto his belly, getting his hands under himself before assuming a deep lordosis.

                Stiles appraises the swoop of his spine and the sleek, lean bands of muscle running down his back, but it’s his baby’s ass that has him captivated. Like this, his boy’s voluptuous bubble butt spills over to the sides and rounds out his haunches. Nestled between his baby’s cheeks is a black plug, big enough to stretch his rim shiny and pink, in bold contrast to his pale skin.

                “What’s this, baby? Hmm?” His boy jumps when Stiles palms his ass, caressing, scratching through soft fuzz. “You just couldn’t wait, could you?” He strikes one ass cheek with a sharp, stinging slap, his palm and fingertips tingling. His baby’s ass jiggles with the blow.  

                His sweet boy gasps and spreads his knees, pushing his ass higher, hole clenching around the plug. Stiles delivers another prickling smack to the other fleshy cheek, and this time, his wonderful boy moans and rocks on his knees.

                “Behave, baby. You’ll take what I give you. I shouldn’t even let you come tonight for holding out on me.”

                “Daddy, I’m sorry. I’ll be so good for you. I _promise_.” The bedspread muffles his baby’s plea, half of his face pressed into the mattress.

                Stiles sighs. “I’m going to fuck you just like you asked, but you don’t come until Daddy tells you.” He soothes the blooming red spots on his baby’s tender ass but pinches the warmed skin occasionally because his boy still needs to be chastised for misbehaving.

                He taps on the base of the plug, his baby groaning softly. Stiles coaxes a little bit of the toy past his baby’s rim and fucks it back inside. The plug _squelches_ with a slick, wet sound.

                “Fuck. You’re all ready for me, baby?”

                His baby hums in pleasure while Stiles fucks him at a gentle pace. When he pulls the toy out far enough, Stiles notices a glazy sheen covering the black silicone. Opalescent, seeping out between his boy’s hole and the plug.

                Stiles removes the plug and drops it onto the bedspread, and his baby’s hole constricts from the abrupt emptiness. A trickle of come slides down his taint, and Stiles grunts.

                “That’s a lot of cream, sweet boy. How many times have you been fucked today?”

                His baby mumbles the answer too quietly for him to hear, and Stiles knows it’s intentional. He claps right over his boy’s swollen, come-soaked hole. His pretty baby _keens_.

                “Five times, Daddy,” his boy mewls.

                “Hard cock drilled your ass five times today, and you still want another load?” Stiles chuckles and holds the base of his dick, rubbing the head through the leaking come from his baby’s battered hole.

                He slides into his baby’s grasping, slippery heat all at once and thrusts into him _hard_. The force knocks his baby forwards and sends his heavy sac swinging between his spread legs.

                Stiles sets a brutal pace, with powerful, reaching spears of his cock. His baby moans every time his insides are stroked.

                “You just assumed I wouldn’t mind fucking through stale come and your sloppy asshole?” He grips his baby’s hips so that his boy doesn’t rock into the headboard.   

                His boy’s voice wavers from the impact of their fucking, and he pants harshly. “I should have told you, Daddy. Sorry.”

                “But you like it, don’t you, baby boy? You love that you’re overflowing with cream. That I’m fucking it out of you.”

                His baby squeezes a handful of bedcovers. “I like the way it feels—oh god, _Daddy_ —h-how it runs down my thighs and I don’t-I don’t need any prep to be fucked. I’m just wet and open and ready for you, Daddy.” Stiles hears the loud, raspy breaths from his baby and feels the tremors wracking his body.       

                He presses a plush kiss in the middle of his baby’s back and murmurs, “You want me to plow your ripe boy-pussy? Spray your cunt with another hot load?”

                His baby sobs again and nods, dragging his fallen, sweat-plastered bangs over the pillowcase.

                “What’s your color, baby?” he whispers, fingertips grazing his boy’s heaving sides, bumping along his expanding ribcage.

                “Still green.”

                “Okay, baby boy.” Stiles administers a well-aimed thrust, nailing his baby’s prostate, earning an awed gasp. “The way your sweet cunt is pulsating around me, I’m going to come soon. I want you to come whenever you like—That’s right, fist that big dick, honey.”

                His baby cries out from the barrage of stimulation, his biceps and triceps contracting as he strokes his cock.

                Stiles grits his teeth through the pleasure, on the edge of orgasm. “I need you to do one last thing for me, baby.”

                “Anything, Daddy,” his boy replies, voice wrecked and delirious.

                “Paint your plug.” Stiles hears a groan and lets his head fall back, fucking furiously. He opens his eyes in time to see his baby stripe his plug with come, and Stiles finishes after a few more vigorous slaps of his hips.

                His cock slips out of his baby’s hole with ease, a rivulet of come drooling down his crack before Stiles can plug him up again. Their come mingles and smears around his boy’s asshole. Stiles’ cock is just as messy, cold and wet, sheathed with his own cream.

                His baby moans and puffs out an exhale when the toy sits snugly inside him.

* * *

                “Der, sweetheart.” Stiles hushes his voice. “You should turn on your side and stretch out.” He handles Derek’s hips and thighs with light touches. His boyfriend’s joints are stiff from holding his position.

                Once Derek seems comfortable, extending his legs and rolling his shoulders, Stiles gathers him to his chest. Derek’s head notches under his chin, and Stiles cards through his lover’s hair, rubs the spot between his shoulder blades.

                Derek always remains non-vocal for the first several minutes after a scene. He becomes overwhelmed with questions that require answers beyond ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or a few words. He cringes at loudness and brightness and possesses an ample thirst.

                In the early, quiet minutes, Stiles whispers deserved praise in his ear and kisses his temple. _So proud of you, Der…Made me feel so good, make me so happy…I love you._

It was an understatement to say that Derek had problems expressing his desires. When they discovered their mutual interest in occasional, non-vanilla sex, Stiles had been utterly _shocked_ that Derek wanted to sub. Not disappointed whatsoever—just shocked. Sure, outside of their kinkier play, they fucked one another regularly. But subbing involved a level of vulnerability that went beyond bottoming, and Derek struggled to ask for things during regular sex.

                Stiles had been rigidly adamant that he wouldn’t Dom Derek for even five seconds until they had a thorough discussion of both of their turn-ons, kinks, squicks, and turn-offs. (He now had a highly organized and detailed spreadsheet for each of them that listed said information, saved and backed up on his laptop.)

                It had been a gradual, and sometimes, grueling process for Derek to describe the things he wanted Stiles to do and say to him. Even more so to confess that he enjoyed them after a scene. Stiles remained patient, well-aware that they needed to lay a solid foundation of trust and safety in order for both of them to feel enriched and satisfied with the experience. Honest and direct communication was essential.

                 “Are you thirsty?” Stiles asks.

                “Yes,” his boyfriend mumbles into his neck. Stiles fetches the bottle of water off the nightstand and offers it to Derek.

                “Can you tell me the things you didn’t like? Or that you wanted to change?” Stiles waits for Derek to finish sipping, half of the water gone already.

                “The club. Too many strangers that kept touching us.” Derek shakes his head with a faint grimace.

                “Okay. How about just you and me next time?” Derek makes an agreeable noise akin to a _purr_ , and Stiles thumbs his cheek with affection.

                “How are you feeling? Physically?” Stiles clarifies.

                “A little stiff.” Derek presses a smile against his throat. “My ass is pretty sore, but good sore.”

                Stiles snorts gently. “I bet. My dick started chafing after round four. I think we could both use a rest for a few days.”

                “Rest,” Derek repeats dreamily, his eyelids drooping.

                “I know, big guy. But won’t you feel better after a shower? We’re a mess.”

                His boyfriend sighs a surrendering sigh. “You’re right.”

                “I’ll do all the work,” Stiles assures, pecking Derek’s forehead, and his lover tilts his face so that their lips catch. This kiss isn’t sexual but full of affection and adoration and contentment. It’s tooth-rotting sweet. “What do you want to do the rest of the evening?”

                “A movie maybe? On the couch.” Derek’s voice is quiet and hopeful. He’s still sensitive from their playtime. Stiles knows automatically that a movie on the couch means a big blanket and the lamps in the living room dimmed, Derek slotted in front of him on the couch and entangled in his arms.

                “I’ll make us some mac ’n’ cheese, too.” Derek grumbles but soon relents and nods.

                With reasonable certainty, Stiles would say that his boyfriend’s emotional stuntedness tends to stem from a fear of embarrassment and vulnerability. It’s not a criticism or a judgment, but it is a particularly cruel obstacle to overcome for someone who experiences sexual gratification from humiliation.

                Stiles shudders to remember how Derek used to cripple with shame when he cried or whined or whimpered or begged during a scene, having to opt out with his colors. After Derek terminated their play for the first time, Stiles scarcely slept for a week, dedicating himself to endless hours of research on proper Dom etiquette once Derek fell asleep. He was petrified that he had somehow been neglectful, haunted in his sleep by words like _subdrop_ and his boyfriend screaming _red_ over and over.

                Stiles refused to do any further scenes when Derek had the same reaction a second time, and it was only through weeks of candid conversations initiated by Derek that he agreed to try again. His boyfriend explained what he felt and why he felt it, Stiles clutching his hand in a death grip, their morning coffee turning bitter and cold as they sat at the kitchen table. It took all of Stiles’ strength and determination sometimes not to cry as he listened because that only would have made it harder for Derek. His soulmate was in pain, and when Derek hurt, Stiles hurt.  

                Derek has made immense progress since then, and Stiles speaks with absolute sincerity when he tells his boyfriend he’s proud of him. Even if those insecurities never fade completely, Stiles intends to offer support and encouragement, to love Derek every day, every which way, and without exception. Because Stiles isn’t perfect either, and his lover does the same for him.  

                Stiles holds his boyfriend close and adds, “I can rub your back and shoulders with that lotion you like. Work out any kinks left over from our kinks.”

                Derek laughs and groans softly. “You’re amazing. I love you.” He touches Stiles’ cheek. “Thank you.”  

                “No thanks necessary.” Stiles kisses the tip of Derek’s nose and the corner of his eye. “I consider it a supreme privilege to spoil you.”


End file.
